Three in the Dark
I was on my fourth lap when I heard footsteps behind me on the clay.
The freaky kid from the dirt-bike night caught up easily and fell into stride beside me. No words at first. Just the rhythm of our breathing syncing under the stars and the cool wind off Lake Ontario.
After a lap he finally spoke, voice light and dreamy. “You always run this hard when no one’s watching?”
I glanced sideways, matching his tone. “Gotta warm up if I’m gonna keep up with you, bro.”
He let out a soft laugh. “You mean for the running… or the wrestling?”
We kept running in silence for another half-lap, shoulders brushing on the straights, the hunger for contact building with every stride.
We peeled off the track onto the grass without needing to discuss it. The first lock-up was brief and exploratory — shoulders bumping, hands finding grips, testing each other again. It felt different. Warmer. More deliberate.
Then headlights sliced across the parking lot above us.
A flashlight beam started bouncing down the path. A young security guard — wiry and boyish, maybe twenty-one, uniform a little too big on his narrow frame — came into view, looking equal parts official and awkward.
“What’s going on here?” he called, voice cracking slightly as he got closer. He squinted in the dark, flashlight sweeping over us. “You two… making out or something? This area’s closed after ten.”
The freaky kid didn’t miss a beat. He stood up, still breathing hard, and gave the guard that dreamy grin.
“Nah, man. Just wrestling. Burning off the lockdown blues. You look like you'd enjoy a round yourself.”
The guard shifted, clearly trying to stay professional, but his shoulders relaxed when he realized we were around his own age. “I can’t… I’m supposed to clear you out.” He paused, then added almost shyly, “Though… I used to wrestle a bit in high school.”
The kid’s eyes lit up. “Then you get it. One quick match. Promise we’ll bounce after.”
The guard hesitated, glanced up at the empty lot, then back at us. A small, goofy smile broke through. “One match. Then you’re gone. Deal?”
“Deal.”
What happened next moved fast.
The guard went straight for the kid. They locked up hard — collar-and-elbow, shoving, straining. The wiry guard knew what he was doing. He slipped behind the kid, snaked an arm under his chin, locked in a tight rear-naked choke/sleeper type hold, and wrapped his own legs around the kid’s waist in a body scissors, pinning his torso completely. The kid bridged and fought, but the guard had good technique and solid control.
For a few long seconds the kid’s face went red, then his eyes fluttered and his body went limp.
“Shit, he’s out!” I said, moving forward.
The guard instantly released the choke. “Oh fuck, I didn’t mean to — is he okay? I used to train that choke, I thought I had the pressure right—”
The kid blinked, coughed once, then lay still for a long moment, chest rising and falling as he slowly came back to himself. After about thirty seconds he let out a soft, dreamy laugh and slowly sat up, shaking his head like he was clearing fog. “I’m good, bro… damn. You got me.”
The guard looked genuinely relieved, then embarrassed. “Sorry, man. You good?”
“Yeah,” the kid said, still grinning as he sat up. “Pretty slick, bro. Let's try that again.”
They went at it again, no hard feelings, but with a renewed intensity. The guard was fit, wiry and quick, but the kid was on a mission. After a brief scramble he spun, dropped, and clamped those powerful thighs around the guard’s head and one arm in a tight triangle hold — the kind I’d seen in MMA on TV, something more than just a headscissors.
The guard’s eyes went wide, his neck veins bulging as he strained to lift his head and relieve the pressure. He tried desperately to pull his trapped arm free, but the kid held him firm, hands gripping the back of the guard’s head and pulling it down deeper into the hold. They flipped positions — the kid rolling to the top in mount while keeping the triangle locked, then flipping back to the bottom again, draining the guard’s energy with every roll. The kid’s thighs pulsed with steady pressure, surging harder whenever the guard fought back.
“Come on, man… tap,” the kid urged softly. “It’s okay.”
The guard held out longer than I expected, but eventually his hand slapped weakly against the kid’s thigh in total surrender. When the kid released, the guard rolled away gasping, face burning with embarrassment.
I couldn’t help it. I looked at him and said, “I’ve been there too, bro. It’s not very pleasant.”
The guard let out a breathless laugh, still red-faced. “Yeah… no shit.”
The kid grinned at me. “Your turn.”
For a split second I thought he meant it was my turn to go against him again — maybe another round of that long figure-four headscissors in the grass. Then the guard stepped forward with that goofy smile and I understood.
We locked up collar-and-elbow, shoving and straining. He was lean and quick, all wiry muscle and surprising technique. I managed to take him down once, feeling the heat of his body under mine, the way his narrow frame twisted and fought. It excited me more than I expected — the contrast of his lighter build against mine, the raw contact, the way he laughed breathlessly when I almost had him.
Then another set of headlights swept the lot above. A second patrol car.
The guard scrambled up fast, yanked his uniform jacket back on, shoved his feet into the dark dress shoes he’d kicked off earlier, and gave us two hurried fist bumps — one to the kid, one to me — before calling up the hill, “Just some guys having a late workout! All good here!”
He jogged back up the path, still adjusting his shirt.
The kid and I slipped off the track together. “That was fun. Hope he doesn't get in any trouble,” the kid said with a soft laugh.
I nodded, still buzzing. “Yeah… we should probably get off the field before another car shows up. I know a spot over there in the trees — there’s a clear patch where we can keep going.”
We moved into the small stand of trees that bordered the field. The kid glanced around the little clearing of soft ground hidden from view and gave a low whistle. “This is nice. Our own little wrestling ring. Really private.”
“Yeah,” I said, the word coming out quieter than I meant.
Then, very softly, he said, “By the way… my name’s Josh.”
The name landed like a small spark in the dark. Josh. The freaky kid on the track finally had a name, and somehow it fit perfectly — simple, easy, full of that same zany energy that kept pulling me back.
“Kyle,” I whispered back.
He repeated it once, quietly, like he was tasting it. “Kyle.” Then the grin came back, softer this time. “Nice to finally meet you, Kyle.”
The moment we were alone again the air changed.
The Clearing
Josh didn’t speak. He just lunged.
We crashed together harder than before, the earlier intensity with the guard still crackling between us. I was still buzzing from watching him completely own the security guard after being choked out himself — that mix of concern, adrenaline, and something darker. It turned me on in a way I didn’t want to examine too closely.
This time when he reversed and locked me in his headscissors, it felt different. Deeper. He held me there a long time — firm, warm, controlling — surging the pressure in waves while I thrashed and fought. My face burned against his inner thigh, the intimacy overwhelming after everything that had just happened.
I didn’t tap quickly. I let the struggle stretch, revelling in the rush, the helplessness, the raw emotional intensity of it all. In that long, breathless hold I realized something clear and terrifying:
I was in love with Josh — the freaky kid on the track.
When I finally tapped, he released gently and pulled me close, our foreheads almost touching on the cool forest floor. For a moment we just breathed together, the night air thick with pine and damp earth.
Then his hand slid down, resting lightly on my rear. The touch was casual, almost tender, but it sent a jolt through me — total control wrapped in something soft. His palm pressed just enough to remind me he had me.
“You like that?” he whispered, voice low and warm against my ear.
I didn’t answer right away. My mind was a mess — part of me appalled, part of me aching for more. The same frozen feeling I’d had on the track that first night, when his bike was hurtling toward me, came rushing back. Except now the danger felt inside my own skin.
“Yeah,” I finally breathed. “I like it.”
He let go slowly, but didn’t pull away. Instead he rolled us so we were side by side again, his leg still draped over mine.
“Come to my house, bro,” he said quietly. “It’s not far from here. My bedroom’s in the basement. My parents will be asleep, and they’re cool anyway. We can do this on a real bed… or the carpet. Not the forest floor.”
He paused, eyes searching mine in the dim moonlight.
“You okay with that? You want this, right? I know you want it.”
I swallowed hard. The words felt huge.
“I’ve never done it,” I admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I mean… I’ve never done anything like that. You’d have to show me. Or be gentle. But… I want to. I need to be shown.”
He smiled, soft and dreamy again. “Or we can just stick with the wrestling for now. It’s all good. It’s nice here — really nice — but it feels a bit creepy too, doing more than that out in the open. The wrestling is safe. For the rest… my place would be better.”
Then his tone shifted, just a little darker, a little hungrier, the zany edge still there but laced with something raw.
“The guard was pretty cute, no? I’d like to fuck him too. Do the both of you. Pay him back for knocking me out, the bitch. Make it a double-header.” He grinned, but there was heat behind it. “Also, what you need is a gummy to loosen you up some. Get you in the flow. Hey, I think I got a pack, but it takes time to kick in.”
The words hit me like another near-miss on the track. Shocking. Wrong. Exciting. I should have been indignant, should have pulled away. Instead my stomach flipped with a rush I couldn’t name. I’d only met this kid a few nights ago — almost got run over by him, got submitted by him, deeply submitted by him — and now it felt like he was on the verge of doing that thing, the one unspeakable thing I’d both craved and been appalled by.
It all felt so wonderful and freaky and dark and mysterious, exactly like the kid himself. And also natural. Necessary. Like I was finally hitting my peak performance, whatever the hell that meant.
“Much ticklish, are we?” he suddenly whispered, and before I could answer his fingers danced lightly across my ribs.
I lost it — bucking, laughing helplessly, the tension breaking into something wild and ridiculous. He laughed with me, the dreamy sound filling the little clearing, and for a moment everything felt simple again.
But the offer still hung in the air between us.
I didn’t say yes. I didn’t say no.
I just lay there beside him on the soft forest floor, hearts still racing, knowing the night had already pushed us somewhere new — and that whatever came next, I wasn’t ready to run away from it.
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